Blue bottles

I have nothing to say… I’m sitting in front of an ancient comp. I can hear the rain swish quietly outside. It’s grey. I have an exam in two days. I just sat through the most boring class..Specific Relief Act… I doodled my name on the attendance sheet and then a sweet-sour lethargy stole over me. I wrote a poem(heavily ‘inspired’ by the God Of Small Things). I recollected random convo’s I had yesterday. And my eyes are itching with sleep.

I have nothing to do…other than of course to hit the books. But I’m so tired of remembering cases and the rest which make no sense whatsoever. My right index finger is swollen due to endless note-making on cheap paper. My skin’s pale and I look slightly sad. And very tired.

I can hear the rain swish outside. And see the roads becoming slick with the needle-like rain. Little puddles being formed. And men and women with very wet ankles nimbly tring to avoid these little pools of precipitation.

It’s a grey tableau. Greyer than a four-day sandwich. Or dirty underwear. My orange bag is wet. My beige sandals are wet. My dark hair is wet. I’m wet. And this endless repetition is geting to me. So I’ll prob catch a few z’s and wrestle out Contracts-I. God! Things we do to just live…

Heroin, vodka and white noise
Snow falling outside, on the way home
Past the street lights, night sky
All the way down the west
In this dream I had travelled by the nightline

So walk easy, easy on your young feet
Doomed grandeur never feels so sweet

This was something that was sent to me… Right when i needed it and didn’t want it… A breath of sweet truth in my embittered life…

I haven’t listened to myself in a while. Yesteday while I sat explaining my psyche to someone who clearly didn’t care, I found my entire life condense into one painful truth. I won’t actually really write it down ’cause I still have to work it out.

Lose everything and find yourself…

I’m single. Undeniably so. Unbearably so. I have so much love to buffer me spirit, I apparently don’t need anymore…

Says Mum, Dad, Kanika, Appu and several others whom I’ve stepped on to be here (What Ho, Aaditya?)

I’m not sad. Just curious… What would it be to smile at someone broadly without caring that your cavities show? Wouldn’t it be nice to safely assume that you don’t really have to stray outside to the killer I’m-single-ready-to-mingle scene…that desperate search for The One…

I guess… I don’t really know…

My parents (touch wood) have lasted years of each other. Some others I know have just blown a candle or two on their anniversary cakes…(Awww!!) So how come a billion, over-qualified, vulnerable , strong women are still single? And the same number of men too?? Where is the Love?

I see dead people. People in fake-as-MJ’s nose relationships. People with several bodily embellishments to prove they have someone interested in them. But how does a cluster of broken blood vessels show you what companionship is? And is the real scale of affection that the other person has for you buying expensive gifts for each other or the other extreme…going the boho way?

Should I be with someone because the whole world thinks He and I are perfect together? Or shouldn’t I be with someone who happens not to be a Bramhin, Iyengar, not Srivatsa gotram?? Are you actually telling me I have to be shallow enough, weak enough to accept someone whom I have scant respect for, absolutely no affection and some attraction just because he’s the catch of the season? The hippest and most happening dude in IIT?

With people screaming off the roofs, their bling glinting the sun off them, hiding their pitifully unhappy hearts…Are congratulations in order? Or a couple that just walked away from Eden-minus-the-snake years, is desolation the right emotion? What is this insane need to appear as a happy couple? Why is society plumping for the Hum-Do scenario? Does it have to be the matching rings and ‘Hers and His’? Can’t I be happy alone? OR more appropriately, shouldn’t I be allowed to be happy alone?

Everyone…everywhere constantly looking for the other half that fits into their being perfectly… everyone…everywhere looking that one person whose arms they can lean into without being afraid of getting pushed away. At what cost?

When the brain cynically believes Mark Darcy is never going to arrive…When the heart resigns to it and you begin living in with Daniel Cleaver… Is this what being single denied?

Then I’m single. Thankfully so. And beautifully so.

P.S This is no reflection on the Happiness that’s touched my soul. I still believe in Love. And those Loved. Except that I don’t and won’t accept a watered down, pretentious version of it. Call me sentimental. Call me high-maintenance. But I believe that there is no use pretending to be uber-into with the man of my best friend’s dreams.

And this does not represent anyone alive. You wouldn’t be with the sleaze bag/ plastic moron if you were actually alive. Coincidence? I think not.